Mood Music
by DNAisUnique
Summary: Post-ep for 'The Rocker in the Rinse Cycle.'


**Thanks for your continued support. It's greatly appreciated. Let me just take a moment to say that last week's fic wasn't meant to offend anyone, and I'm sorry if it did so. That certainly wasn't my intention; it was my interpretation of how Booth would respond to Brennan's not knowing The Rat Pack.**

**Anything aired is fair game, but the following takes place immediately after 'The Rocker in the Rinse Cycle.' What's going on with all the music-related episodes recently? :D **

**Dedicated to bookish327. Thank you for all you've done. This isn't quite the fluff you requested, but I promise to make that one of my projects over the break!**

**Enjoy!**

**VVVVV**

"You know how Led Zeppelin got their name, Bones? After an early show, some critic said their sound wouldn't fly, that it would go over like a lead zeppelin."

"Well, no, a lead zeppelin wouldn't fly, Booth. It would be too heavy."

Booth tilted his head to the side and kind of rolled his eyes at her.

"Oh, I get it!" she exclaimed with a short laugh. "It was a play on words."

"Right, and the guys liked the phrase so much they decided to use it as their band name and prove they could go all the way to the top!" Booth bobbed his head to a guitar riff heard only in his head as he held up his hand, index and pinkie fingers extended, while his thumb held down his middle and ring fingers. The classic 'Rock On!' symbol.

"They must've been very popular then."

Booth's hand dropped back onto the bar. "Then, now. Nearly everyone knows them!"

Brennan sighed and momentarily thought about sharing with him the fact that many cultures didn't have the means or opportunity to be exposed to musical genres outside their own. Deciding against that, however, she grinned slightly. "Fine, Booth. Next time my publisher offers me tickets, I'll ask you before I decline."

"Thank you!" Booth exclaimed. "Though Zeppelin'll probably never do another show," he finished with a grumble.

"There must be other bands you like, right? What about that Rat Pack group you mentioned last week? You still like them, right?"

"Well, yeah, sure," Booth agreed. "Only…they're all dead, Bones."

"Oh."

"You know what? I'll make you a CD sometime," he chuckled, mirth in his eyes.

"Booth…"

"Not in the 'social contract' kind of way," he held up a hand, "but the 'my-partner-needs-more-exposure-to-music' kind."

"I'm familiar with music genres from around the world. I hardly think I'm underexposed when it comes to music," she replied, pausing momentarily. "I could make _you_ a CD of some of my favorites. We could trade."

Booth groaned inwardly. He'd seen her music collection. He didn't need to hear the songs; most of the titles were painful enough just by themselves. Still, he found himself agreeing to her proposition.

She smiled and took a long dip of beer. "Has Catherine met Parker yet?"

"Whoa, talk about coming out of left field!"

"I don't know what that means, though I'm assuming it's some sort of sports analogy."

"Yeah, baseball," Booth supplied.

"Why is everyone so consumed with speaking in baseball references?" Brennan mused aloud.

"Because it's _baseball_ season, Bones. You know, America's pastime?"

She stared at him, her face devoid of any semblance of recognition.

"Of course you don't know that either," he sighed. "You don't know what you're missing: 'Take Me Out to the Ballgame,' Cracker Jacks…"

"Anthropologically speaking, I comprehend the males' need to relieve aggression and tension, however there are more useful ways of one's time."

"It's a _game_, Bones. Something people do for fun."

"Does Catherine like baseball?"

"I don't know! Jeez, Bones!" Booth exclaimed. "Why are you so obsessed with her?"

"There's no reason to get upset, Booth. It's apparent that she's going to be a fixture in your life now, so her actions affect you. I'm only asking about her because you're my partner. As I already stated, though, you can ask me anything about my relationship with Andrew."

Booth scrunched up his face. He didn't _want_ to know more about his partner's relationship with his boss. But she looked at him, practically begging him to ask _something_.

"What, uh, type of music is on the CD?" he asked eventually.

"It's not a particular genre, and I don't remember song titles, but some of the artists were: The Eagles, Regina Spektor, Dave Matthews Band, and Led Zeppelin, of course."

Booth shook his head, his lips sporting a wry grin. He didn't have anything against the artists she'd mentioned, he was just having a difficult time wrapping his mind around the fact that Brennan liked them but _not_ Zeppelin.

"And," Brennan's voice interrupted his thoughts, "The Rat Pack. I was impressed by the tonal quality and fluidity in their songs."

"As long as there was no Barry White."

Did he _really_ just say that to her?

"Who's Barry White?"

He did. Damn it.

Booth sucked in a large amount of air, then slowly breathed out. "No one."

Brennan sighed and pointedly looked at him. "He must be someone, Booth. I'm assuming he's a singer."

"Just forget I said anything."

"It's okay. I'll ask Andrew later."

Booth groaned as that potential scene played out in his head--Bones would ask Hacker, Hacker would get the wrong impression, and they would end up in bed. And then Bones would insist on sharing the details with him.

"It's a musical sex code!" he said loudly, drawing odd looks from other patrons.

"'Musical sex code?'" she repeated.

"Well, yeah," Booth admitted, flustered by the number of sex-related conversations they'd had. There was no turning back with this one, though. "Barry White starts playing, and it almost always ends up with people doing the horizontal mambo."

"Having sex? Why?"

"I don't know, Bones," Booth sighed. "Because it's Barry White and people like mood music?"

Brennan studied her partner.

"What?" he asked when he noticed her gaze. "Do I have something on my face?"

"No, just wondering if you've got any mood music in your collection…"

**VVVVV**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Okay, so the ending might be slightly out-of-character. In my defense, though, no one can withstand the pressure of the angst forever! :)**


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